Page 66 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

CASPER

M y irritation at leaving Lailah and Callum behind is nearly suffocating.

Every step away from them feels like a betrayal—especially Lailah.

The warmth of her touch still burns against my skin, and I can't shake the memory of how effortlessly we fit together.

Her lips, soft and inviting, her body pressed against mine, and how perfect it all felt, just as I had imagined. My heart races at the thought.

I want to stay, to figure this out with her, to talk about what this means for us. But the moment I thought I could indulge in that quiet, stolen peace, Gwyn finds me. She brings news—new, urgent information.

The plan has already been set in motion. There’s no room for distractions. No room for weakness. Even if every part of me screams to turn back and feel her warmth again, I know the reason I’m doing all of this is for her, even if she doesn't understand it. Even if I can’t explain it.

As I walk into the tavern, my eyes lock with Gwyn’s, then Alias's. I nod once, a silent command, signaling for us to head to the basement. It’s the place where we’ve always met when we need to be seen, but not heard—a place where we can show our faces to the guards but disappear from sight when we need to plan, to discuss, to plot.

The stairs creak beneath my feet as we descend into the cool, dimly lit depths of the tavern.

The air smells of wine, stale bread, and dust—an earthy, almost oppressive scent.

Cobwebs cling to the beams overhead. Down in the shadows, Malachi waits, leaning casually against a stack of barrels, his arms folded.

His eyes narrow as they meet mine. There’s an alertness there, a recognition of what’s at stake.

Alias takes a seat on a nearby barrel, biting into a red apple with a loud crunch. Gwyn’s gaze is fixed on me, her face stoic, but I can see the concern in her eyes.

“What did you find out?” The words come out a little rougher than intended, like I’m fighting to keep control of everything I don’t want to feel.

“Lord Striden sent two riders out tonight. He’s working with King Sarris and is aware of Clyde’s next moves,” she tells me.

Striden’s treachery doesn’t surprise me—not after everything that’s happened, but I thought his son’s marriage to Clyde’s daughter might have swayed him. I didn’t expect him to go against Clyde’s wishes. It changes things.

“Did you take care of it?” I ask, biting back the irritation building inside me.

It’s hard to focus on anything but Lailah. Hard to think when I should be thinking of revenge.

Gwyn nods, confirming it’s been handled. I turn to walk toward Malachi, but before I can ask the question that’s been gnawing at me, he shakes his head. There’s something in his eyes—a hesitation I can’t ignore. It’s not about trust. It’s personal.

I glance back at Alias, who, with an almost irritatingly loud crunch of his apple, breaks the stillness. I know the frustration isn’t directed at him. It’s the situation. It’s the fact that I’m here, talking about matters of war and betrayal when all I really want is to be with her.

In a fit of frustration, I throw a knife at the tavern pillar. The apple is skewered mid-air, and Alias barely flinches. He just looks at me, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t get pissy at me because we stopped you from getting laid tonight,” he says, standing up and retrieving his apple from the wall.

Gwyn’s lips twitch, amused by Alias’s inability to ever take anything seriously. She doesn’t say anything, but I see the slight shake of her head. She knows what I’m really angry about.

Her gaze turns back to me, cool and calculating.

“I’ll leave, try to find out if Sarris had contact with Striden before Jason’s marriage to Clyde’s daughter. Maybe we’re missing a bigger picture here—maybe Striden’s betrayal is part of something more. We might be able to make an ally of him.”

I let out a low chuckle, amused by the thought of confronting Striden about his betrayal. The idea of calling him out to his face on his dirty dealings makes me grin, but it fades quickly. Striden can’t be trusted. Neither him nor his son.

“No. Stay close. We don’t need to seek any more information,” I reply, my eyes meeting Malachi’s.

There’s a glint of calculation in his gaze that sparks an idea.

“We won’t do anything yet. Stay silent, watch, listen. Striden’s stupidity is his downfall. He made his move when the lands were crawling with vampires at night. He doesn’t realize that we’re already watching him.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, leveraging the pain to stay centered in the moment. The mission.

“Alias, go to Vanessa,” I command. “She likes you more than anyone else. Let her know we need her to play her part tomorrow evening. Make sure she understands: Clyde is her target.”

Alias, of course, makes no effort to mask his enjoyment of the situation. He takes another loud crunch of his apple before walking off.

I watch Gwyn as Alias walks away, and there’s something in her eyes—something I’ve learned to recognize, the way she watches him with almost a possessive edge.

She doesn’t say a word, but I see the jealousy simmering just beneath her calm exterior.

She hates anyone showing interest in him, and I know she can’t hide it from me.

Gwyn notices the way I look at her. The unspoken understanding hangs in the air. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

“Don’t say a word,” she mutters, heading back toward the tavern entrance.

I turn back to Malachi, his face stern as ever. I need the information I’ve asked for, and it’s time to get it.

He arches an eyebrow at me as if to see whether I’m in the right frame of mind to hear what’s coming. Stepping closer, he lowers his voice, ensuring only I can hear.

“She hasn’t slept in her private chamber since their wedding night.”

A hiss escapes me before I can stop it. The image of Jason’s hands on her flashes in my mind, and my heart clenches painfully. Malachi senses the shift in me, his hand falling to my shoulder, steadying me.

“They aren’t sharing a bed,” he continues. “Jason’s been sleeping in his private rooms. Leaving her alone.”

I stare at him, confusion sweeping through me. Why? What twisted game is Jason playing? The night he made those threats about claiming her body... it gnaws at me, and I can’t piece it together. Malachi steps past me, heading toward the stairs. Before he leaves, he pauses, his gaze lingering on me.

"She is extraordinary, you know," he says, his voice quieter now. "Even if her gaze could strike a man dead, there’s something in her eyes… something you can’t look away from."

I huff a quiet chuckle.

"She could, couldn’t she?" I murmur. "Those eyes… daggers in them."

Malachi pauses, turning slightly as if to gauge my reaction. His lips twitch at my tone, but he doesn’t comment. He knows what I mean—the way they seem to cut through everything. There’s a quiet ferocity there that could leave anyone in their path feeling like they’ve been pierced by a blade .

Malachi turns back toward the stairs, speaking once more, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Jason will be occupied for the remainder of the evening. He has meetings with Clyde concerning his future within the palace."

The mention of Jason only makes my longing worse, but it also sparks something else—curiosity. What is Jason after with her? And why does it feel like he’s pulling strings in a game I can’t see?

I glance down at the floor, aching with the desire to see her again.

To make sure she’s okay. The urge to be near her, to hold her, grows stronger with every second that passes.

Before I can even think it through, my feet are already moving toward the stairs.

Without a second thought, I’m heading to her.

I don’t know if I’ll find her, or if she’ll even want to see me, but I need to be near her. I need to make sure she’s safe.

As I tread carefully across the darkened forest floor, the soft crunch of leaves beneath my boots is the only sound in the oppressive stillness.

I pull my cloak tighter around me, the hood casting shadows over my face, ensuring no one sees me as I make my way toward the looming castle walls.

The air is heavy with the weight of unwelcome memories that this place always seems to stir.

I’ve always hated this palace. Its towering spires and cold stone walls are a stark reminder of the hope that once bloomed within me every time I returned. Hope that was always crushed beneath betrayal, suffering, and pain.

Now, the castle feels more like a prison than a home—a cage filled with the ghosts of my past, their whispers echoing through the corridors I once knew so well.

Each step closer brings a fresh ache, a longing to erase the memories this place has etched into my soul.

But still, I move forward, drawn by a purpose that outweighs my own desire to stay away.

Her blue eyes flash in my mind, vivid and haunting. I see her body as it lay cold on the dungeon floor, her dark hair veiling her face, her scarred hands bloody from the bite of iron chains. My heart burns, and I shake the memory away.

A crack splits the silence beyond the treeline.

My senses flare, but I know exactly who lingers in the shadows, watching where he shouldn’t.

A few steps further, and Callum emerges into view, leaning casually against a tree, a slender stick of smoldering darkleaf balanced between his fingers, trailing lazy ribbons of smoke into the dusk, his cloak concealing all but the glint of his amused eyes.

“Have a nice evening?” he asks, exhaling a plume of smoke into the damp air.

“You would know,” I reply, brushing past him without breaking stride.

His deep chuckle follows, rich and knowing, as he flicks the darkleaf to the ground and falls into step beside me. Always the predator, Callum leans closer, taking an exaggerated inhale.

“She sure does smell good, doesn’t she?” he murmurs, his voice a velvety mix of teasing and hunger.